


King and Lionheart

by JackyJango



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is a Sweetheart, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 02:18:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: Other Kings don’t yelp, his mother would say- Charles thinks bemusedly. But 'Other Kings' are not Charles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how it happened. When I first started writing this, I had a different agenda in my head and this wasn't supposed to exceed a 1000 words. But like every other time, I started writing and it went ON and ON and ON.  
> It ended up miles away from where I had intended it to go. Apologies in advance if you don't like it.
> 
> I don't know why I went with that summary either. Guess writing at 4 in the morning has that effect on you.
> 
> And the title is from the song of the same name. The song was a part of the inspiration to write the fic.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Please forgive them !?

          It was like the weather had a mind of its own. With the days swaying on excessively hot and nights edging on eerily cold, the scarce hours of dusk were the only reprieve. Charles knew that the temperamental temperature was an indication of the impending rains and an answer to the farmers’ prayers. But it did nothing to suppress his vexation on the matter.

The days he could handle- his attendance as the King of Westchester was required constantly, either in the throne room surrounded by his council or in audience with his subjects. It were the nights that had begun to throw a fuss. Charles was sure that the cold land winds were promiscuous enough to know exactly how to seep past the barrier of furs and leech the heat out of his body. Even his exquisite bed had started to put up a protest- the thick silk sheets becoming prickly and thorny. It was like sleeping on a bed of roses, only to have the roses replaced by their stems. His pillows stuffed with the softest duck feathers were a dead weight under his head.

‘Your Majesty, supper is ready. It will be brought to you on your word,’ Sean speaks out from across the study, a crooked smile on his face and hair in disarray.

Charles had retired early to his quarters in the late afternoon to look at records he had been ignoring for a long time now, but he hadn't realised it was night this soon.

Xiara is blissfully calm when he looks from his study to the city below. Small flickers of light are beginning to appear against the darkening sky like golden fireflies. The din of the market has reduced to a dull hum on reaching the palace on the citadel, like the breaths of a living city. The wind has begun to swirl with wisps of chill in it, tousling his hair and whispering conspiratorially against his ears. It sounds oddly like a familiar voice telling him to get enough sleep.

Despite the breeze, Charles feels stuffy in his regal clothes. He sighs and rubs his eyes. At least, he has only one more letter that requires his attention. Maybe a long bath would do him some good and then he could chase away the night resuming to read _Once and the Future King_. He wishes he could read more. He always wishes he could read more. Half of the Xavier library making its way into his study proof of that.

Realising that Sean is probably waiting for his answer, Charles replies, ‘In some time Sean. Would you be kind enough to bring me some tea till then?’

The redhead mutters something that sounds like _your Majesty_ and scampers away.

Charles picks up the last parchment of the pile and goes through the contents efficiently. He writes his reply on a separate sheet, paying no heed to alignment or penmanship. Once dried, he folds the two sheets together, seals with hot wax and brands it with the Xavier emblem.

Sean enters the study again bearing a hot cup of tea, effusing the scent of the herbs into the air.

Charles thanks him and hands the pile of records. ‘Please have these delivered to Ororo and no one. I think I'll retire now. I’m tired Sean, so if anything requires my attention, it can wait till tomorrow.’

Sean nods vigorously and hurries off to bark out the orders to Alex and Darwin by the door of his quarters.

‘Sean,’ Charles calls out when the boy is near the exit, ‘Please send out a word to have my bath ready with the jasmine oil Angel picked from the Trader’s market.’

‘Yes your Majes-’

‘Please revert to Charles when it's just us.’ No matter how many times Charles has forbidden formality within the confines of his quarters, he can’t seem to escape it.

‘As you command your Majes- Sir- Charles.’ It comes out more of a question than a statement, so Charles smiles to reassure the boy. With Sean ducking out, Charles realises with a sigh that it’s the first time that he has smiled since he got up in the morning and retreats to his bedchambers with the teapot in hand.

It's strange even now, Charles thinks, to be addressed as the king. But he's getting better at acknowledging it and choosing his duties over fawning over nature and its wonders. His father would have been proud of him.

His robe has remained unused for almost three weeks, Charles thinks absently on entering his bedchambers. He has been sleeping in the other robe for most of that duration. The red silk isn't pure or smooth as his, the arms of the robe pool around his wrists and the lapels threaten to fall off his shoulders, exposing the length of his neck and collar. It probably won't even withstand the malice of the wind later in the night, but he doesn't care. He doesn’t feel alone wearing it- it feels and smells comfortable. Only if his mother could have seen him like this- so unfitting for a king, she would have suffered a stroke.

He is about to enter the bath when he hears muffled noises from outside. There should be no reason for his interruption- whatever it is, Alex and Darwin were capable enough to handle it. Still, he fastens the robe around his waist and enters the adjoining study.

‘Sean what is-’ he starts but stops at the scene in front of him. Sean and Alex are fighting to block the way to his chamber and behind them is Erik.

Erik. Charles almost bursts with happiness. He moves past Sean and Alex like they were a  fragment of his imagination seconds ago and hugs Erik with all his strength. It's unlike Kings to throw themselves at people- especially in front of an audience, but he doesn't care. The iron hooks and buckles protruding from Erik's mail is pricking his skin in many places, but he doesn't care about that either. Behind the smell of iron and rust of the mail is the distinct smell of Erik. He clutches Erik tighter, screwing his eyes shut- like a child scared of thunderstorms- sacred that Erik will be gone if he dares enough to open his eyes. He buries the side of his head into Erik’s breastplate, trying to block out the noises behind him.

An unknown passage of time passes by before he looks up at Erik’s form.

‘You have a beard,’ is the first thing he says. ‘And you have tanned.’

Erik laughs and oh! Isn’t that a fuel for his soul. ‘I have a beard, yes. Like the first time you saw me. I have tanned, also like the first time you saw me. I’m probably smelling too, just like the first time you saw me.’

No longer in the constraints of Charles’ hug, Erik slides his arms around Charles’ waist and pulls him snug to his body. Charles shivers when their foreheads meet but he circles his arms around Erik’s neck, hoisting his bare feet over Erik’s boots, such that they are pressed from chest to toe and the difference in their heights is nullified.

‘What is that about me not being allowed to see you?’ Erik asks with a tilt of his brows. So absorbed in Erik’s presence was he, that he only now realises that they are alone. Despite being weather worn and dirt ridden, Erik’s face is still the same wonder that had stolen his heart all those years ago. He lowers his right arm to cup Erik’s face and caresses the jutting cheekbone with his thumb.

‘You’re early,’ he murmurs into the scant inches between them, ignoring Erik’s question and just reeling in his presence.

‘And you're wearing my robe,’ Erik whispers hotly against his lips.

He doesn't know who initiates it but the next moment, they are kissing. It's not the kind of kiss that gets his heart rate racing and sets his body on fire. It’s not the kind that fills his mind with lust and steals him of coherent thinking. It's the kind of kiss that reaches his heart and tugs at its strings. It's the kind that drugs his soul and leaves it caching for more. It's a delicate mesh of lips and teeth and tongues and breaths. It’s just… _re-acquaintance_.

Charles feels dazed when he breaks for air, his heart singing with it. Judging by how Erik sighs into the side of his head and draws in a deep breath, he probably feels the same way.

‘How do you feel about a long bath?’ Charles suggests, placing a kiss on Erik's cheek.

‘You’ve read my mind,’ Erik replies, before he scoops Charles off the floor and hikes him onto his shoulders.

Charles yelps in mock protest but of course Erik ignores it and heads in the direction of the bath.

_Other Kings don’t yelp_ , his mother would say, Charles thinks bemusedly. But other Kings are not Charles and they are definitely not married to Erik.

*

‘Why was I being denied access to your chambers again?’ Erik asks, leaning his head back on the edge of the bath wall.

The moon light is pouring in long stark streaks through the high window of the east wall and caressing the ripples of the hot bath water. The scent of jasmine rises with the steam leaving the liquid surface in dancing swirls. Erik’s tense shoulder muscles are slowly giving away under his fingertips where he is sat cross legged on the bath wall.

‘Because I told them not to admit anyone inside, and they simply thought that it extended to my husband as well,’ Charles says, laughing despite himself.

‘Good. Now I have a reason to throw them out of the Royal Guard,’ Erik says feigning irritation.

‘They are just kids love,’ Charles replies, ducking down to place a gentle kiss on Erik’s forehead.

‘So you keep telling.’ Erik says, his eyes sparkling silver with mirth in the moonlight.

‘Oh come off it. They are ours!’ Charles sings the last bit.

Instead of replying, Erik catches Charles’ closet wrist and hauls him into the bath, the water splashing under his weight and the chamber walls reverberating with his giggles. _Kings don’t giggle_ , a voice whispers inside his head.

Charles ends up half on top of Erik, his head pillowed on Erik’s chest, their limbs entwined and Erik’s arm circling his waist.

He takes in a long breath, inhaling the sweet smell of jasmine and the masculine musk of Erik. It’s a delicious concoction in his head. Erik begins to card his free hand through his hair and it’s enough to put him to sleep.

‘How was the trip? Anything new after the last time you wrote to me?’ Charles asks after a small eternity, drawing lazy patterns on Erik’s chest.

‘No. On the upside, Logan has dropped the idea of rallying the tribes against the throne. But on the downside, he was offended that the King didn’t personally come to negotiate with him.’

‘Isn’t it enough that I sent my first Knight in my stead?’ Charles asks.

Erik’s laugh in reply reverberates through his chest. ‘I think he likes you. He keeps throwing a fuss every year in favour of seeing you.’

Charles smacks Erik’s far arm, feeling his ears burn with embarrassment. Erik laughs harder. ‘It doesn’t matter though. He seems to be quite taken with our Defence Minister,’ Erik supplies, kissing his temple.

‘Good,’ Charles replies. ‘I’ll just let Jean deal with him if he should create unrest in the future. That way you wouldn’t have to leave my side for weeks at a time travelling through woods and deserts.’

‘Did you get enough sleep while I was away?’ Erik asks, his voice softer this time and laced with concern.

They both know the answer to that question and the answer is a no. So in the spirit of their earlier banter, Charles answers haughtily, ‘Yes. Especially since I had Lord Scott Summers to keep me company.’

It has the desired effect- Erik stiffens only for a second before he recovers quickly and answers nonchalantly, ‘Oh, good. Now I don’t have to feel bad about spending nights with the Chief's daughter. She was quite taken with me.’ Not once has Erik’s wits failed to entertain him; still, he feigns annoyance and smacks Erik’s arm again. Erik only laughs and pulls him closer.

The next few minutes are spent in enjoying each other’s company in silence, the ripples of water being the only sound between them. Charles begins massaging Erik's arm absently where he had smacked him earlier. There a few bruises on Erik's right arm and shoulder. Charles wonders what happened. He could probably create a balm out of herbs for it later.

He remembers a time in their relationship when they couldn't keep their hands off each other. A month of parting would push them into days of love making on reunion. It has not changed a lot per se- the two of them still lost in passion beneath the sheets until the first rays of sun slant in through the curtains and Erik being the same beast in bed as before; but it's different now. It's different now that they are married.

Now, a month of separation brings an ache to his heart that becomes unbearable after a while. It's less like missing Erik and more like missing a part of himself. It's as though the absence leeches the heat out of his body and pricks his mind. Charles had read dozens of books dedicated to love as a child. But the real thing comes nowhere near the descriptions. He had read that love is a drug that consumes the mind and the body. But the love that exists between Erik and him transcends the mind and the body- it’s an amalgamation of the hearts- an immanent act of the soul. And the love between them is… _pure intimacy_. So much so that sometimes Charles wonders where he ends and Erik begins.

‘Stop it. A King shouldn’t be doing that,’ Erik murmurs, taking his hand from where he had been massaging his arm. He doesn’t know long they have been like that, but it must have been long- his skin has begun to prune, the water is losing its warmth and his unused limbs are falling asleep, but he doesn’t move an inch.

‘It’s my bloody right to serve my husband,’ he protests, freeing his wrists off Erik’s grip and resumes kneading his muscles. ‘And besides, I am the King only outside these chambers. Inside these walls, _you’re_ the King,’ he whispers over Erik’s chest.

‘And how is that my love?’ Erik whispers into his scalp. When Charles lifts his head up, there’s a smirk on Erik’s face and an amused glint in his eyes- the moonlight dancing in silver highlights. He knows Erik is only teasing- if the endearment is anything to go by- but there is only the truth he has to offer when he leans up against Erik and confesses to his lips, ‘Because you rule all over my heart.’

He doesn't know who starts it but the next moment, they are kissing, Charles’ hand in Erik’s hair and Erik’s hand roaming over his midsection. It’s not the kind of kiss that leaves Charles week in the knees and deprives him of his senses, but it is the kind of kiss that fills him with such bliss, that his body feels too small to contain it.

Neither of them speak when they break apart; they don’t need to. Charles buries his head under Erik’s chin and Erik in Charles’ hair. It’s after what feels like ages that Charles whispers with his hand on Erik’s heart, ‘Welcome home my King.’ Erik only hums in reply and the reverberations of it in Charles’ head pushes him into slumber.

*

It’s warm where he is sleeping. There’s an arm around his waist and a musky scent in his nostrils. The silk that he’s sleeping on is soft- like sleeping on a bed of roses. The pillow under his head is hard, but it’s alive and warm. The wind is no more cold, but it still tousles his hair and whispers hotly against his ears, sounding oddly like a familiar voice telling him to sleep well. There’s a dull thump under his ears, repeating itself in regular intervals. And that rhythm pushes Charles once again into a dreamless sleep.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said earlier, this fic turned out much different from what I had in mind, so I'll just leave it to your interpretation/s.
> 
> Also, [jackyjango ](http://jackyjango.tumblr.com)on Tumblr!
> 
> Like always, thanks for reading!


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